El Diablo Part 23

"I'm about caught up with that idea of yours. I don't see that there is anything in it to cause any one to get the swelled-head."

"Who's getting the swelled-head?" demanded Gregory, the smile pa.s.sing from his face.

"Well, I'm not," retorted the girl, laying special stress on the p.r.o.noun. "I've seen too much of this game to have my head turned by a little luck."

Gregory overlooked the implication and admitted soberly:

"Yes, we sure have had luck. There's no denying that. I never had any idea the boys would take to the game the way they have."

"They wouldn't if it hadn't been for my fishermen taking all the trouble they did with them. Why, a lot of those fellows were seasick when they first came down here. They were 'rocking-chair sailors.' My men made them what they are. I don't see any luck in that."

Gregory smiled provokingly.

"No, I don't suppose there was," he said. "What I meant was I was lucky in getting hold of men who really wanted to learn. You've admitted several times that they got along faster than you had any idea they would."

"Anybody could catch fish the way they've been running the last few weeks," evaded d.i.c.kie. "I never saw anything like it before. Nearly every boat comes in with a good haul. And when the local market was glutted at Port Angeles, you shot them up north and just tumbled on to a good market as Frisco was out of fish. That was nothing but luck," she challenged.

"And now we have orders for all canned stuff we can turn out," Gregory put in.

"Sure you have. From the Western outfit. I wouldn't trust them out of sight with a case of fish. They'll eat the stuff up as long as you can throw it to them in big lots. That gives them a chance to beat you down on the price. The first bad run of luck you have, they'll drop you cold.

I know. They did the same thing with your father the very first time he began to fall down on his output."

"Yes, but----"

"You're not going to fall down." She took the words from his mouth and hurried on: "That is just what I was afraid of. Your luck has gone to your head. You have an idea things are always going to be like this. I know better. And you'll know before you get through. The fish are liable to head out to sea any day."

"You guessed wrong about what I was going to say," Gregory announced. "I was going to tell you I had an order from Winfield & Camby for a s.h.i.+pment of albacore if we can get them out right away. Suppose the fish do run to sea," he went on. "I'll back you to find them if any one can. And we're well equipped now to follow them up."

d.i.c.kie was somewhat mollified but she took care not to show it.

"You're not figuring on Mascola either," she began.

"Mascola," Gregory repeated. "Why, he's been decent enough the last two or three weeks."

"I know it," she interrupted. "That's what has me guessing. It isn't like Mascola to be that way. He's been checking up on us right along, but he hasn't bothered any of our boats since he lost the _Roma_. It's about time he showed his hand."

"We have nearly as many boats as he has now," Gregory observed. "Maybe he thinks----"

Again the girl antic.i.p.ated his words.

"Get that out of your head," she snapped. "If you think Mascola's quit, you're wrong. The more boats dad got, the harder Mascola fought him.

It's only when an outfit gets big enough to make a showing that he begins to get busy."

"We'll have the rest of the cannery boats out the last of the week,"

Gregory announced. "I'll have the boys rush them. We won't start anything, but just get good and ready. It's Mascola's move. I've made it perfectly clear to all the men that we are not looking for trouble."

d.i.c.kie was silent for a moment. Then she said:

"I have an idea that Rock gave Mascola a 'b.u.m steer' and that both of them are just beginning to find out their mistake."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Rock guessed wrong. He told a lot of people around town when you opened up that you'd be broke in thirty days. He and Mascola are pretty thick and the chances are he told Mascola the same thing and the dago believed him. Now they're beginning to find out they slipped up in not trying to cripple you before you got your men broken in. I've just got a hunch it won't be long before we hear from Mascola. He's bringing more boats in here every day from down the coast and the islands."

Seeing they were getting nowhere by their talk, Gregory tossed the balance sheet to the desk and got to his feet.

"We'd better be on our way," he said.

With d.i.c.kie following, he lead the way out into the cannery where he stopped for a moment to speak to McCoy. "I'm going outside for a while, Mac. If the Western people call up, tell them we're s.h.i.+pping the last of those sardines to-day. Sound them out on albacore prices in job lots."

d.i.c.kie turned away at the mention of the jobbers. Gregory evidently thought very little of her advice. Biting her lips, she walked to the door to wait on the receiving platform. McCoy watched his employer follow after her. d.i.c.k was sore at him. He'd have to go up to the house this evening and try to square himself. She was evidently sore at Gregory, too. And in that thought, McCoy derived some consolation.

With the crisp sea air fanning their faces as they headed out to sea, d.i.c.kie's irritability vanished. Desirous of starting conversation after a protracted silence, she began: "Who do you think I saw down-town the other day?"

Gregory could not guess. "I was in the bank," she began after a moment, hoping Gregory would not notice that at times she did frequent Rock's inst.i.tution. "And that crazy fool, Boris, was in there trying to borrow some money. He's been hanging round town ever since Mascola fired him.

When I've seen him he's been drunk on j.a.panese _sake_. He has it in for me because all the fishermen kid him about being run on the rocks by a girl. When I stepped back from the teller's window, Boris lunged against me and started to mumble something. But before he had hardly opened his mouth, a well-dressed man came from somewhere and threw him half across the room. And who do you think it was?"

Again Gregory shook his head.

"Bandrist."

As Gregory voiced his surprise, the girl went on:

"You wouldn't have known him. He was all dolled-up and looked like a different man. He knew me all right and he had the nerve to ask me if he could come to see me," she concluded.

Gregory's dislike of Bandrist increased.

"What did you tell him?" he asked.

d.i.c.kie laughed.

"I told him I wasn't any more anxious to receive callers at my home than he was at his."

Gregory wondered if the caustic answer to Bandrist might have been retailed for his own benefit. He reflected suddenly that d.i.c.kie Lang had never so much as intimated that he would be a welcome guest at her home.

Well, there was no use dwelling on it now. He had never bothered the girl, and never would.

"Bandrist is no ordinary sheep-man," she went on. "And I know it. He's working some kind of a game over there that he doesn't want people to b.u.t.t in on." She paused abruptly and her eyes narrowed. "I wonder," she began, but left her sentence unfinished as she noticed that Gregory was regarding her curiously.

"What?" he prompted.

"Nothing," she said. "Maybe some day I'll tell you. But not now."

Gregory knew her well enough to know that nothing could be gained by urging. During the silence that fell upon them the minds of both were working in parallel grooves, groping for a way of light to lighten the darkness of an unsolved mystery. When they reached the albacore banks and sighted the vanguard of the fis.h.i.+ng fleet, both came back sharply, back from the maze of doubt and intangible suspicions which clouded their brains as the fog had clouded the island that held their thoughts.

Making the rounds of the albacore fishermen the truth of the girl's pessimistic prophecy became strikingly apparent. The fish had undoubtedly taken to sea. Laying-to to check one of the last of the few remaining boats which rode at anchor, d.i.c.kie consulted her tally-sheet and shook her head.

"Not much in this," she averred. "It's a losing game so far. And there's only Big Jack with the _Albatross_ yet to hear from. We ought to find him cruising off the seal rocks. He's generally the first out and the last to come in. He never gives up while there's a chance left. I've seen him 'chumming' for albacore all day and then bring in a bunch hours after everybody else had given up."

As they drew near the _Albatross_ she hailed the fisherman: "How are the fish, Jack?"